


this ain't a greater plan

by seeingrightly



Series: i haven't known you for a lifetime [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/F, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:44:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seeingrightly/pseuds/seeingrightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey doesn’t exactly plan to go to the Valentine’s Day party at the Alibi. Of course he doesn’t. It kind of just happens to him. And he puts up his token protests. Of course he does.</p>
<p>But he lets Mandy pick out an outfit and he lets Svetlana do his hair. He lets Yev slap a couple of conversation heart stickers onto his tie. What kinda fuckin’ parent would he be if he didn’t? He even lets Debbie convince him that she and Mandy can babysit Yev at the Gallagher place overnight, so he and Ian can have the apartment to themselves while Svetlana goes over to Nika’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this ain't a greater plan

**Author's Note:**

> surprise again!!!!!!! after this, there are two more stories to this 'verse, so hopefully it won't take me 85 years to write them, although the next one should be a long one.
> 
> i should mention that this one was always meant to be about valentine's day - the timing is a coincidence. and i should also mention that there was always meant to be a sex scene in this one too - it's your lucky day, commenter who recently asked when there'd be another one.
> 
> (i haven't watched tonight's episode yet but hopefully this being posted will cheer some people up. i'm sure it's needed.)
> 
> title from mika's "stuck in the middle".

Mickey doesn’t exactly plan to go to the Valentine’s Day party at the Alibi. Of course he doesn’t. It kind of just happens to him. And he puts up his token protests. Of course he does.

But he lets Mandy pick out an outfit and he lets Svetlana do his hair. He lets Yev slap a couple of conversation heart stickers onto his tie. What kinda fuckin’ parent would he be if he didn’t? He even lets Debbie convince him that she and Mandy can babysit Yev at the Gallagher place overnight, so he and Ian can have the apartment to themselves while Svetlana goes over to Nika’s.

Mickey checks Yev’s overnight bag for, like, the second or twelfth time after Svetlana finishes with his hair.

“You think I can’t pack bag?” Svetlana asks, glaring at him around her eyelash curler.

Mickey huffs and goes to make sure Yev is ready to go. Mandy’s pulling his coat on and nodding absent-mindedly as he goes on about some space book Liam let him borrow. When he pauses for breath, Mickey interrupts.

“You sure you’re gonna be good staying there all night?” he asks.

“You talking to him or me?” Mandy asks without turning around, and Mickey squints at her.

“ _Should_ I be asking you?”

It is weird, actually, that Mandy’s staying in – she usually comes home hungover, if not still drunk, the day after Valentine’s Day. But it probably just means Debbie’s a good influence on her or something.

“No,” Mandy says tightly, shoving her way past Mickey. “I’m going to be just great.”

He can’t tell if it’s her usual Valentine’s Day weirdness or if it’s something else, but he gets distracted when Yev grabs onto his leg.

“Daddy, Liam’s gonna let me use his tele- tele-”

“Telescope?” Mickey guesses, and Yev nods. “Cool.”

“Daddy,” Yev says, “why are you buzzing?”

“Huh?”

Yev shakes Mickey’s leg a little where he’s still gripping it, and Mickey realized he is kind of vibrating in place, would probably be shuffling back and forth if Yev wasn’t in the way.

“It’s nothing,” he says, but Yev looks unimpressed, so Mickey detangles Yev from his leg and squats down in front of him. “Okay, maybe I’m nervous.”

“Nervous?” Yev says, his eyes going comically wide. “Because it’s my first sleepover?”

“Uh, sure,” Mickey says, and then he catches himself. “Yes.”

There’s a snort from the doorway, and when Mickey looks over his shoulder, Svetlana is there, the overnight bag slung over her shoulder.

“Yes, that is the only reason you are nervous,” she says. “Nothing to do with your orange boy.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey says. “I don’t got shit to be nervous about. You ready to go?”

Svetlana rolls her eyes, turning to head down the hallway.

“I forgot,” she says. “Flowers and chocolates, big baby in diaper with his arrows – these you are very comfortable with.” 

Mickey flips her off even though she’s not looking and goes to get his coat.

He tries not to think too much about what Svetlana said – he and Ian aren’t even doing gifts or anything, and Ian had promised that he’s only a liar about gifts when it comes to little kids – but he still finds his legs bouncing up and down against the seat on the L, only noticing when Mandy smacks his thigh.

He’s mostly okay. He’s going to the party in the first place, after all. And he knows Ian won’t make it weird or anything. But everyone else on the fuckin’ planet might, ‘cause this stupid holiday is all about expectations, which is exactly what he and Ian don’t have. Neither of them know what to expect from – anything, really, and it’s mostly okay until shit like this rolls around.

In all fuckin’ honesty, Mickey forgets to be nervous when they get to the Alibi because of whatever weird shit is happening with Mandy and Debbie.

Mandy’s got on some tiny red dress but hasn’t topped it off with the terrifying heels she tends to wear out, and she’s got sweats shoved into her purse for later, which she leave with her coat on the table near the door. She helps Yev out of his stuff too and even waves to Kev behind the bar. Mickey tries not to be too obvious about watching her, but he’s not used to seeing her so – comfortable. On Valentine’s Day, at parties, around people, in general, really.

At least, she looks comfortable until she spots Debbie.

When Mickey spots Debbie he actually does a fuckin’ double-take. She’s got on a dark purple dress that flares out from the waist down, and the chest has a big heart-shaped cut-out that’s framed by her hair, which Fiona probably did all nice for her, same as her make-up. She even has on little heeled boots. It’s not like Debbie hasn’t dressed up before, but – it’s never been so put together, really. It doesn’t look like it’s too much, a little kid trying to play dress-up. It looks good. Even Mickey, who doesn’t normally notice this shit, on guys or girls, has to take a second to register how _good_ she looks.

Svetlana curses in Russian and raises her eyebrows at Mickey, smirking, and he makes his own _I fucking know_ face right back. Mandy, though, has gone still between them. Svetlana grabs her arm and drags her toward the bar.

“Have a drink first,” she says kindly, which is kind of weird, both the tone and the comment, but Mickey doesn’t get too long to think about it because Ian swoops out of nowhere to grab Yev up in a bear hug.

Mickey lets them squeal at each other for a bit, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows and everything so that when Ian remembers to look over, he’ll get that look on his face that means he likes it when Mickey pretends to be grumpy. Ian just kind of stares at him for a second, his smile wide and his eyes lingering near Mickey’s chest – probably the stickers Yev put on his tie.

“Hey bud, why don’t you go tell Debbie how excited you are to sleep over?” Ian says, lowering the kid to the ground and pointing to where Debbie is standing with Fiona and Vee.

The bar is probably more crowded than Mickey has ever seen it, since the party is open to regulars, family, and whoever wants to drop by, but the place is still small enough that Yev can cut between people’s legs without Mickey being concerned. Still, Ian waits ‘til Yev gets to Debbie before he slides closer, a hand on Mickey’s tie and a smirk on his face.

“Hm,” he says, and Mickey feels his face heat up a little, because he’s pretty sure one of them says something like _real love_ or _amore_ or _my love_ or some shit and he just – that’s not something that needs to happen.

Mickey lets his hands twitch down where Ian can’t see them, resists the urge to rub at his mouth, but Ian’s smirk softens, and Mickey lets himself relax just a bit.

“This one a request or a demand?” Ian asks, flipping the tie up so Mickey can read the upside-down sticker that says _kiss me_.

Mickey takes a tiny, grateful breath before leveling out into a disbelieving look.

“You really think I make fuckin’ requests?” he asks, and Ian laughs before he wraps his hand properly around the tie and pulls Mickey close.

He stops when their noses are just about touching, though, and breathes against Mickey’s mouth for a second.

“Later,” he says quietly, “you can demand whatever you want.”

Before Mickey can properly react to that, Ian hauls him forward again, this time to place a brief, soft kiss to Mickey’s cheekbone, and that sets Mickey’s face on fire all over again.

When Ian lets go he kind of turns to the side and looks away, lets Mickey clear his throat and shuffle out the awkwardness that’s threatening to overwhelm him, giving him enough time to get the fuck over it and recover enough to shove Ian toward the bar.

“Come on, Gallagher,” he says, maybe a little too gruffly. “I’m buyin’.”

And maybe it’s not too bad, sitting at the crowded bar, letting Ian press their shoulders together as he talks to the regular seated next to him, Mickey glancing over his shoulder to see where Yev or Mandy are at every once in a while.

He’s startled, though, when Mandy comes up behind him and grabs his shoulder, her nails digging in, her mouth pressed into a thin line and something in her eyes that’s just short of panic.

“Hey,” she says tightly, pulling a little, and Mickey slides off the seat, tensing all over, his shoulders coming up and his hands balling into fists before he even knows what the problem is.

Ian turns too, doesn’t quite leave his seat but tentatively puts a hand on Mandy’s shoulder, concern all over his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Mandy gives him a tight but genuine smile before shaking her head. She wraps her hand around Mickey’s wrist and pulls him away a little.

“ _What_ , Mandy?” he snaps, ‘cause he can feel that whatever’s vibrating through him is pulsing through Mandy too.

“Iggy’s here,” Mandy says, quiet and toneless, not really looking at him.

Mickey feels his breath catch, wheezing weirdly in his throat as he stares at the side of Mandy’s face, at where she’s biting her lip, at the way her eyes are darting around the room and her shoulders are at her ears, and after a second he realizes he’s gripping her arm back, too hard the way she’s gripping his.

“Shit,” Mickey says, and Mandy finally looks at him, looks him right in the eye and lets out a panicked giggle, and Mickey knows if they were anyone else they’d be hugging right now, burying their heads in one another’s necks, but instead they’re anchoring themselves together by the wrist, sharp enough to draw blood, sharp enough to keep them awake and ready.

“Shit,” Mickey says again, because he doesn’t know what the fuck this means and neither does Mandy.

Iggy was always kind of in the background, back home. The only plans he ever came up with were ones he saw on crime shows or the news, the only insults he ever threw were parroted from movies or their dad, and his laughter was always a beat too slow. He smiled at babies he saw while robbing convenience stores, for fuck’s sake. Iggy wasn’t exactly a criminal mastermind. But he did do what Terry told him to do, and if Terry told him to find Mickey and Mandy – well. Mickey doesn’t know what the fuck this means.

But panicking isn’t gonna fucking help them.

“Where is he?” he asks, and he sees something in Mandy settle, just a little, at him shifting into _doing_ something.

“Back in one of the booths,” Mandy says, pointing to the back corner. “He _looked_ like he was just hanging out, but I don’t – I don’t know.”

“Yev still with Debbie?”

“Yeah,” Mandy says, her eyes widening just slightly, and Mickey squeezes her wrist.

“Bring him here, okay?” he says, and Mandy nods and turns around, darting through the crowd.

When Mickey turns around, Ian is facing the bar, his knuckles white around his drink.

“Hey, man,” Mickey says quietly, grabbing his shoulder. “Listen, one of my brothers is here and – and we don’t know why.”

Ian bites his lip but doesn’t say anything. He knows bits and pieces, has been told stories by him and Mandy. But he hasn’t seen them actually _deal_ with this kind of shit before.

“What do you need?” Ian asks after a second.

“Hang onto Yev,” Mickey says. “It’s not like my brother will know who he is if he sees him, and I don’t need that to change. And don’t – don’t let the kid know anything’s wrong.”

“Okay,” Ian says.

He looks like he wants to reach out, to touch Mickey, to do something, but he doesn’t. Mickey squeezes his shoulder before he turns away. When Mandy comes back, holding Yev’s hand, he picks the kid up and places him on Ian’s lap. Before Yev can ask any questions, Ian starts talking at him, shooting a worried glance over his shoulder as Mickey starts to edge away.

“You see Svetlana lately?” Mandy asks, keeping close to Mickey’s elbow as he moves slowly toward the back of the bar.

“Fuck,” he says, “you think he’d even remember what she looks like?”

“Uh,” Mandy says suddenly, “yeah, I think so.”

Mickey glances over his shoulder at her, follows her line of sight until he sees it – Svetlana, sitting in the corner booth and looking uncomfortable but not panicked, smiling slightly as she listens to Iggy talk animatedly, lounging on the other side of the booth with his arm around a girl who’s got a toddler on her lap.

“Oh,” Mickey says quietly.

“Oh,” Mandy says, a little more loudly, and then, “I’m an idiot.”

“No you’re not,” Mickey says, glaring at her. “We still don’t know what the fuck he’s doing here.”

When he glances back, Svetlana looks up and spots them. She looks between them for a second, concern clear on her face, and then she nods slightly.

“Okay,” Mickey says, and Mandy wraps her hand around his wrist again. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Mandy says, and then they walk over.

Svetlana slides over in the booth, and Mickey sits down and drags Mandy in behind him before he looks up at his brother. Iggy’s mouth drops open around the neck of his beer and he almost spills on himself, and Mickey barely suppresses a hysterical laugh because it’s something he’s seen his brother do a million times, just not in the last six years.

And Iggy looks different, not just older but cleaner, better-rested. Comfortable. Mickey knows he and Mandy do, too.

“Iggy,” he says, probably too formally, and Mandy snorts, and he flicks her arm, and she shoves him back.

“Whoa,” Iggy says. “What the hell? I’ve been asking Svetlana all sorts of questions but she wouldn’t tell me shit! I mean, I didn’t know if you were still married or not but I figured she still knew where you _were_.”

“What are you doing here, Iggy?” Mandy asks.

“What are _you_ doing here?” he replies, and then he yelps, “Ow!”

Mandy smirks. She always used to kick them under the table where Terry wouldn’t see it.

“Seriously,” Iggy says, “I’m just as fuckin’ surprised here. I’ve been living with Dee since she found out she was pregnant, man. I come here all the time.”

Dee looks maybe a little confused but ultimately unconcerned with the appearance of Iggy’s family, focused on the toddler, maybe two years old, in her lap. The kid’s got soft blonde curls and a tiny little Bears jersey on over pink leggings, which is a horrible color combination and definitely Iggy’s doing.

“Her name’s Kimmy,” he says when he sees Mickey looking, and the smile he gets is one Mickey’s never seen on his face before, something quiet and sure.

“You left,” Mickey says.

It’s not really a question, but he’s asking something. Mickey’s not even sure what. Iggy looks at him, looks over at Mandy, glances at Svetlana.

“You guys left first,” he says simply. After a second, he asks, “Whatever happened to your kid? Still around?”

Mickey tenses. But then Iggy reaches over and adjusts Kimmy’s pant leg and gets that look on his face again. Mickey takes a breath.

“Yeah, he’s still around,” Mickey relents.

“Cool,” Iggy says easily. “So what _are_ you guys doing here?”

“Our friends live here,” Mandy says, and Dee glances up suddenly.

“Oh,” she says, “the Gallaghers, right? I work with Fiona.”

Then she looks at Mickey, narrows her eyes and then widens them.

“Oh, aren’t you –”

Mickey must tense noticeably or something because she cuts herself off.

“Wait, Gallagher?” Iggy says, squinting. “Isn’t, uh, the redhead, isn’t Ian dating some dude named Mickey?”

Mickey’s whole body locks up, and Mandy tenses with him. He can feel that she’s ready to jump up from the booth if she has to, her arm pressed tight to his.

“I didn’t think it was _actually_ you,” Iggy laughs, “but it did get me thinking, you know, some things make a lot more sense if it _could_ be you, you know?”

He gestures with his beer toward Svetlana and raises his eyebrows. Mickey blinks.

“What,” Mickey says.

“So _is_ it you?” Iggy asks.

Mickey squints. This has to be the calm before the storm, right, the pause before Iggy really gets it?

“It is him, right?” Iggy asks Mandy. “’Cause I heard Gallagher talking about a little kid with a weird-ass foreign name the other day, and that makes a lot more sense now too if it _is_ this Mickey. Uh, no offense, Svetlana.”

“That’s it?” Mickey says, suddenly, loudly, too loudly, and Mandy puts a hand on his leg.

“What’s it?” Iggy asks.

“You’re not even gonna fuckin’ _react_?” Mickey hisses, leaning across the table, and the baby begins to fuss, burying her face in Dee’s neck.

Mickey would feel bad if he could think about anything other than how wrong this scene is playing out.

Iggy raises his eyebrows at Mickey, reaches over to rub a hand up and down his kid’s back.

“What, you want me to call you a fairy?” Iggy asks. “I mean, it’s kinda _weird_ , and it’s not like I wanna watch you and Gallagher do it, but whatever, dude. Dee’s gay brother lives with us and he’s like nine feet tall and kicks my ass whenever I say any of that shit anyway.”

He shrugs, looking totally unbothered.

“Oh,” Mickey mutters.

“I’m gonna go tell Ian to stop freaking out,” Mandy says, sliding out of the booth. “You want me to bring the kid over?”

Mickey watches Iggy push Kimmy’s hair off of her forehead.

“Bring them both over,” he says. “And get me another beer.”

-

Ian’s quiet the whole way back to Mickey’s place. He keeps their legs pressed together when they sit, but he’s quiet, looking out the window. Mickey thinks maybe Ian’s giving him time to _process_ or some shit.

It’s funny – all his nerves about this night being high-pressure or whatever are fuckin’ gone. He’d rather be dealing with that.

The second he unlocks the apartment door, the second Ian gets inside, Mickey grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him back, pushes the door shut with his bulk and shoves his tongue down Ian’s throat. Ian lets him for a long moment before he brings his big hands up to the sides of Mickey’s head, slows him down until he can pull away, switch to smaller kisses and then just knock their foreheads together and look at him.

Mickey hates him.

“You said whatever I want,” Mickey tries, and Ian narrows his eyes, opens his mouth to say something Mickey doesn’t want to hear.

“No,” Mickey says.

“Come the fuck on,” Ian replies immediately.

Mickey huffs, drops his head to Ian’s shoulder and lets Ian do what he wants to, lets him wrap his arms around Mickey’s shoulders and draw one hand up and down his back a few times. He huffs again and pulls away, throwing his jacket and shoes and shit around on the way to the couch, where he slumps down and looks at Ian expectantly. Ian laughs a little, makes his way over, pulls Mickey off the couch so that he can lie down along the back and waits for Mickey to lie down next to him. Mickey ends up flat on his back with Ian on his side kind of leaning over him, a hand tracing patterns on his side.

Because he knows Mickey’s not gonna start, Ian opens his mouth.

“I can’t believe I already kinda knew Iggy but didn’t know he was your brother.”

“Yeah,” Mickey says quietly. “I can’t fuckin’ believe it took this long to run into him.”

“It’s a good thing you and Mandy and Svetlana were all there together when it happened,” Ian says carefully.

“Yeah,” Mickey says again, and he leaves it at that, because he doesn’t want to think about any alternatives.

It’s almost unthinkable, that… that happened and it went fine. That they just sat and kind of talked. That nothing really even happened.

Mickey always thought he was the only one who blindly followed Terry’s orders out of fear. He thought his brothers all _agreed_ with Terry, and it’s fucking him up to think, after all these years, that maybe he was wrong about them.

It’s not like Mickey really _misses_ his brothers. The only one he ever really talked to at all, back home, was Mandy, and even that was stilted. He didn’t really _know_ his brothers – it’s pretty fuckin’ clear now he didn’t know Iggy that well. All they really did together was steal, and smash shit, and do drugs, and beat people up. There wasn’t much there to miss. Except for, maybe, a – a sense of _community_ , or some kinda bullshit like that. Knowing he had people who had his back, when it came to pretty much everything except Terry, and except the part of himself that Mickey worked so hard to hide.

That’s something he has felt the loss of, though lately it’s been… better.

And clearly it wasn’t worth _that_ much, in the end, ‘cause Mickey chose to walk away from it.

And apparently so did Iggy.

“Did,” Mickey says, and then he stops.

“What?” Ian asks after a second, rubbing his hand down Mickey’s side.

Mickey bites his lip, thinks about how to say what he wants to say.

“I think,” he says slowly, “I think Iggy left ‘cause I did.”

“What do you mean?” Ian asks neutrally.

“I never thought,” Mickey says, “we never thought – life outside of Terry wasn’t a possibility. I guess me leaving made Iggy realize he could too.”

“How’d you realize _you_ could leave?” Ian asks, and Mickey shrugs.

“I just had to,” he says. “It wasn’t just about me anymore, you know? I didn’t really think I _could_ , but I had to. I mean, I _still_ don’t even really believe it’s possible. But I’m here. And now Iggy is too, I guess.”

He rubs a hand over his face.

“I always just thought my two options were I’d stay in the fuckin’ closet forever, or they’d find out and kill me,” he says, laughing hollowly.

Ian hums a concerned sound and leans over to press a kiss to the side of Mickey’s head.

“You’re gonna hate what I’m gonna say but I’m gonna do it anyway,” Ian says suddenly and seriously.

Mickey squints up at him and feels himself tense in preparation. Ian moves his hand to the side of Mickey’s face, blinks down at him for a few seconds and smiles just a little, liked he’s awed.

“You are so fucking brave,” he says, and Mickey immediately recoils, shoving at Ian’s shoulder.

“Shut the _fuck_ up,” Mickey says, and then he shoves Ian’s arm out from under him and Ian crashes down on top of him, his shoulder in Mickey’s face and his knee narrowly missing Mickey’s balls.

“I mean it,” Ian says, his voice muffled by Mickey’s hair, and then he cracks up as he rolls fully off the couch, landing on his side in the gap between the couch and the coffee table.

“Dumbass,” Mickey says, kicking at him, but Ian catches his leg and just sits there smiling at him so that Mickey has to look away.

“Hey,” Ian says suddenly, and he’s right above Mickey, still smiling.

Mickey wraps his hand around the back of Ian’s neck and pulls him in, shoving his tongue down Ian’s throat again but admittedly a bit more gently this time. Ian pulls away after a minute, kisses down his neck and then hums against the hollow of his throat.

“What do you want?” Ian says quietly, the words tickling against Mickey’s skin, and he swallows thickly.

For a brief, horrifying second, Mickey thinks, _you_ , but he closes his eyes tightly and shakes his head a little and shoves Ian out of the way as he gets off of the couch. Ian, still kneeling, grins up at him.

He has _no idea_ , Mickey thinks, but maybe he does.

Mickey turns and heads toward his bedroom, letting Ian scramble to catch up, tucking his fingers down the back of Mickey’s waistband as he crowds him through the doorway.

“What do you want?” Ian says again, untucking Mickey’s shirt and the reaching around to unbutton it clumsily, pressed against Mickey’s back and breathing kind of grossly into his ear.

Mickey’s mouth drops open as Ian undoes his belt and fly and shoves his hand down the front of his pants, cupping him over his boxers. He grunts and pushes back against Ian, who laughs against his neck. Mickey reaches his arm back and loops it around Ian’s neck, turns even though it’s an uncomfortable angle to look at him.

Mickey doesn’t know what he wants. He wants anything Ian’s willing to do to him.

That’s not as scary to think about as the other thing, but it’s still not something he knows how to say. He’s not even sure if he would want to, if he could.

Ian seems to sense that he’s thinking too much because he smirks a little and then pulls away, yanking Mickey’s pants and boxers down all in one go. He lets Mickey kick them off and then he shuffles Mickey toward the bed, his jeans brushing weirdly against Mickey’s ass and thighs. They stop at the edge of the bed.

Mickey’s breath catches a little as they stand there, Ian’s hands heavy on his hips, patient but still waiting. _What do you want?_

He turns around, and Ian raises his eyebrows a little but he smiles. Mickey stares at his mouth and thinks about bravery, thinks about this life he never thought he could have.

“Kiss me,” Mickey lets himself say, and it’s a demand but it’s kind of a question too, a flutter of uncertainty always in Mickey’s throat in moments like these, when he knows what he wants but can’t say it, when he doesn’t know what he wants and doesn’t know how to ask Ian what _he_ wants instead, when it’s too much pressure even though it’s the most comfortable thing Mickey’s ever known, when it’s too much pressure _because_ of that.

And Ian does kiss him, one hand on his waist and the other on the back of his head, his belt buckle brushing high against Mickey’s belly and his mouth soft and coaxing. Mickey lets himself drift into it, lets his fingers scratch through the short hair at the nape of Ian’s neck, lets his other hand trail up Ian’s side. Ian shivers against him, makes a soft little noise but doesn’t break the kiss, which is good because Mickey doesn’t think he could look at him while he lets himself do this.

Eventually they have to breathe though, and Mickey ducks his head when he pulls back, but he lets himself rest his forehead against Ian’s shoulder. After a second of hesitation, Ian kisses the side of his head once, twice, and Mickey pulls back and sets to getting Ian’s clothes off. Ian stays quiet and still as Mickey works methodically to strip him, as Mickey shoves him across the bed ‘til he’s lying on his back in the middle, his head on Mickey’s pillows and a small smile on his face.

Mickey straddles him.

“Hi,” Ian says, bringing his hands to Mickey’s waist.

“Kiss me,” Mickey says again, diving in before Ian can comply, bringing his hands to either side of Ian’s face and kissing him slowly, deeply.

They’ve kissed like this before, but it’s always been Ian initiating it. Mickey takes his time.

Ian keens into his mouth, wraps both arms tightly around Mickey’s waist. When their dicks touch they both hiss, breaking the kiss, but Mickey picks it up again, grinding his hips against Ian’s slowly. Ian moans and arches against him and Mickey swears he can hear his ribs creaking as Ian tightens his arms.

As they get closer and closer the kiss breaks off, but Ian uses one hand to keep Mickey close by the back of his head and Mickey keeps his hands on either side of Ian’s face, keeps his eyes open and lets himself watch as Ian bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut. Ian opens his eyes and sees Mickey watching him and he comes, gasping quietly and arching against Mickey one last time. Something in his expression, something startled but pleased, sends Mickey over too, digging his fingertips into Ian’s skull for a moment before he flops down on top of his chest, his legs still tucked up awkwardly underneath him.

After a few moments of trying to catch his breath, Mickey realizes one of his hands is still curled against the side of Ian’s face, and his fingers twitch, but Ian is fast, grabs his hand and keeps it there.

Mickey lets him.

-

He wakes up to Ian’s chin jabbing into his chest and Ian’s giant eyes watching him.

“Christ,” Mickey says, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands and then shoving at Ian’s forehead.

They’re on top of the blankets totally naked and it’s fuckin’ freezing in the apartment, although admittedly Ian’s weight is doing a decent job of warming most of Mickey’s body. His toes still feel like they’re going to fall off, though.

“What time did we fall asleep?” he grumbles.

“Around four,” Ian says, sounding amused. “But it’s, like, noon. Grandpa.”

Mickey glares through the one eye that’s adjusted to the light coming through the window – apparently Ian lifted the window shades at some point, because of fuckin’ course he did – and presses his toes against Ian’s calf. Ian yelps and rolls off of him, and Mickey realizes his mistake, because now all of him is freezing.

“Don’t even think about it,” Ian says.

“What?” Mickey asks, as closely as he can get to innocent.

“No getting under the blankets. We’re going out for brunch.”

“What the fuck is _brunch_?” Mickey asks.

Ian laughs and tugs at Mickey’s arm.

“Come on. You’re gonna let me borrow a shirt, right? Otherwise I’ll look like a dumbass.”

“You’re gonna look like one anyway,” Mickey says, and Ian laughs again.

He looks – warm, Mickey thinks, and then wants to hit himself. Ian’s hair is all messed up and he looks well-rested, not bleary like he sometimes looks in the morning, and not freezing like Mickey. There are pillow marks on the side of his face and he won’t stop touching Mickey. He looks happy.

“Dumbass,” Mickey says quietly, and he lets himself reach up and fix Ian’s hair, and then he lets his fingers trail down to trace the pillow marks.

Ian’s smile shifts into something too wide for his face, too much to contain, and he ducks his head. He’s always, always trying to shield Mickey, trying to keep from being too much for Mickey.

“Hey,” Mickey says, and when Ian doesn’t look, he sits up, pulls Ian’s face toward him.

He kisses Ian, soft and sure, so sure for once.

“Thanks,” Mickey says, quiet, keeping his eyes closed.

“No, you,” Ian says, and when Mickey opens his eyes Ian’s smiling, huge and right at him.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at [professorwolfjwolf](professorwolfjwolf.tumblr.com).


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